Distress
by toggledog
Summary: After the suicide of a Starfleet officer, the Enterprise crew is forced into therapy. Chekov becomes increasingly distressed, as the therapist's behaviour becomes increasingly more disturbing. Set five years after the events of Star Trek 2009. Warning: sexual harassment, non-con


Author's Notes: Been milling this idea in my head the past few days. The harassment and non-con is not in any way meant to be titillating.

"I still don't understand vy? I am fine!" Chekov watched McCoy place a band-aid over the cotton wool ball that covered the injection wound. The doctor couldn't help but inwardly grin at Chekov's rare relapse into Russian mispronunciation.

"Yeah, well you've gotta convince the therapist of that, not me." He stopped himself from calling Pavel 'kid'. After all, he was coming up to his twenty-second birthday. McCoy had, for the past months in particular, become suddenly aware of the clear line of jaw and lean, yet muscular build that indicated the young man Pavel had turned into.

Don't go there, doc, he told himself.

For a moment, Chekov simply stared at him Of all aspects of his beauty, it was the eyes that McCoy was drawn to the most; particularly in moments such as now. There was an intangible emotion in the vivid green depths that McCoy longed to identify.

He loudly cleared his throat, focusing his attention on the bench on which all of the items for the vaccinations were laid out.

"We're finished here. Better hurry it along, kid. I've got five Starfleet officers to get through after you." So, he'd said the k word, after all. He noted the slight flinch on Chekov's face. It was incredibly subtle, only a very minute upturn of upper lip, but it was clear.

"Ok, fine. I'll be seeing you."

McCoy cleared his throat, not looking up to see the young man exit the room.

###

Chekov moved swiftly through the corridors of the star fleet headquarters, going through his already memorized answers to the questions the therapist would undoubtedly ask. In his mind, the quicker he could convince the therapist that he was a well-adjusted individual, the sooner that Enterprise would be traveling the far reaches of space, again. To him, the idea of the crew going into therapy was rather ridiculous. Sure, a week before, Cadet Wilson had been found hanging in his room. This had been two weeks after a voyage in which he had been kidnapped by Romulans and tortured. To Chekov, one suicide did not mean that the rest of the crew was in danger of doing likewise. Never the less, protocol stated that, in the event of a suicide, the ship was to be taken back to earth and the crew placed into therapy, until the therapist deemed them mentally fit enough to travel, once more.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he almost ran straight into Sulu.

"Whoa! In a rush, are we?" His friend grinned. Pavel forced himself to a halt and grinned back.

"Not really. I'm due for therapy. I'd rather not go."

"Well, the sooner you go, the sooner it'll end. Look at it that way."

"Vell, if you put it that way…" He inwardly cursed himself for his mispronunciation. He'd been working on it a lot, of late. In times of stress, however, it came back.

"You'll be right. Let me know how it goes." Sulu patted him on the shoulder and continued on his way.

Chekov traversed the corridors, until he came upon the door marked with the nameplate 'Dr. Benjamin S. Coogan.' Frowning, he waved his hand at the sensor alongside. The computer interface recognized his hand imprint and the door swiftly opened.

Dr. Benjamin S. Coogan's office was larger than he'd imagined, and rather elegantly furnished. The doctor, himself, sat behind a massive polished oak desk, with two large leather chairs in front and behind. To the right side sat a large bookcase that went from floor to ceiling, overflowing with books. Clearly, the doctor was not a modernist. He was in his mid-thirties, with blue eyes enlargened by his wire rimmed spectacles and wiry blond hair.

"Ensign Chekov? Come, sit down."

His wide smile somehow didn't meet his eyes.

Chekov slunk across the room and sat in the chair facing the desk. It was still disturbingly warm from the rear end that had previously sat in it.

"Ok, to begin with, I'd better get some formalities out of the way."

Yes, yes, go on, Chekov thought to himself.

"This is to be completely confidential. Nothing between us will escape this room. The only exceptions are if I fear you are a danger to yourself or others. Do you understand this?"

Chekov nodded.

"What is your understanding as to why you are here?"

Chekov paused, formulating his thoughts. "Because of Cadet Wilson's suicide. It is Star Fleet protocol that all members of the crew go into therapy, in such an event."

"Did you know Cadet Wilson?"

"Only by sight. I don't recall actually having a conversation with him."

Dr. Coogan was silent a moment. "What are your thoughts, in regards to what happened?"

"That it is incredibly sad. I feel bad for his family. But, at the same time I can see that he must have been in a lot of pain to have done what he did."

Dr. Coogan leant back in his chair and picked up the hand held computer on his desk before him, using his thumbs to flick through the various screens. "You're the youngest cadet ever to graduate from Starfleet. By all accounts you are considered a brilliant, dedicated officer." He put the computer down. "And now, it is clear that you have compassion and empathy too."

Chekov couldn't help but smile, a pleasant warmth settling in his stomach.

"Tell me about Star Fleet. Do you enjoy it?"

"Very much so, sir."

"Ben, please." Again with the cold smile, oddly at odds with his demeanor. "And you have made friends?"

Chekov's mind instantly went to Sulu, and the beer that was promised him at the end of this session. He could almost physically taste it. "Yes, there are a few that I consider close."

"Good, good. And what about more intimate companions?"

Chekov's eyes flicked down. "No… I have wery close friends. That is good enough for me." He inwardly cursed the mispronunciation.

"Tell me… Pavel. What do you consider your sexual orientation?"

An ugly awkwardness twisted his stomach. He told himself that this was part of the therapy and that there was nothing unusual about the question.

"I count myself to be pansexual, sir."

"As I understand the term, pansexual does not count gender or species, but rather the concept of being attracted to a being."

Chekov nodded, feeling his cheeks burn. His mind instantly went to the one being he was solely attracted to, but quickly shut that down. There was no chance whatsoever that anything would come of it. It was simply a vivid fantasy of his.

"Ok, if its' ok, I'd like to delve a little further into this. Is it alright?"

No, it isn't! Chekov thought but found himself nodding, like a puppet on a string, operated by the therapist.

"Have you ever been intimate with another?"

His cheeks now felt as though they were about to spontaneously combust. An image came, unbidden, into his mind, of Doctor McCoy from that morning, leaning close to him. He had a small cut on his jaw, from where he'd cut himself shaving. A thought had come into his mind of simply leaning forward and licking the thin pink line.

_Stop this! It's never going to happen!_

"It is clear that you are uncomfortable with this, which leads to me believe that you haven't. I find this to be rather unusual. After all, you are rather a pretty young man."

Chekov's finger's twisted, the ugly feeling in his stomach increasing. Dr. Coogan wheeled his chair around the table, until he was sitting directly before him.

"Tell me, how often to you masturbate?"

For a moment, Chekov found himself unable to find his voice.

"I don't zink zat is an appropriate question."

Dr. Coogan raised a brow. "Why do you say that?"

"Because…" Chekov was unable to come up with an answer, other than the fact that he was suddenly incredibly uncomfortable in this man's presence.

"Is it fair to say that sexuality is an uncomfortable subject for you?"

Chekov nodded.

_I don't wish to talk about this in front of you!_

Only the words weren't coming out. It was as though his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.

"This is something we must work to get past. Sexuality is a healthy expression of human interaction, in particular. Without a clear knowledge of our own sexuality, then we can be prone to depression and even eventual suicide."

Chekov found he couldn't meet his eyes. He looked down to his fidgeting hands.

"Ok, I'll talk a little of myself. I am married to a woman but count myself bisexual. I will be absolutely honest and say that I find you to be very sexually attractive. And I would not be alone in that assessment."

"I am uncomfortable with zis conversation." Chekov said, quietly.

He felt his heart hammer, as Dr. Coogan moved his chair closer to him.

"Don't be afraid." He whispered.

Chekov jumped as he felt a hand on his thigh, the fingernails digging in. His mind instantly went to the sexual harassment protocols he'd learnt upon entering Star Fleet. They had been drilled into them. Unwanted touching was to be instantly reported. Star Fleet did not condone any unwelcome behaviour.

"Sexuality needs to be embraced." The hand moved up further.

Tell him to stop! His mind urged him. His conduct is vastly inappropriate.

Only, his whole body felt like lead, his mouth stuck in a half open position. The hand groped at his crotch, kneading and stroking the flaccid flesh there.

"It's ok. It's ok." The doctor whispered. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

Chekov felt his shock shatter. He gasped, as though he'd just broken the surface of a deep pool, and quickly scuttled back, pushing himself up from the chair.

"You shouldn't touch me." His legs felt shaky. "I'm citing regulation four one four of ze Starfleet sexual harassment policy. Zis is your first warning. If you touch me again, I vill take zis further."

Looking at the therapist's face, twisted his stomach further in fear. Dr. Coogan did not look the least worried. He grinned and leant back in his chair. "I'm afraid you are rather misinformed as to what constitutes sexual harassment-"

_Misinformed? _

"I know perfectly clear zat it constitutes, among other zings, unvelcome touches-" If only his legs would stop shaking. It was starting to move to his hands, now, as well. And his voice. Why had it failed him now? Why couldn't he say the damned words right?

"But a touch cannot, by definition, be unwelcome, in a therapeutic context, in which the therapist is attempting to develop the sexuality of the patient."

Chekov found himself floundering, his mind spinning.

"No, zat-"

"You are incredibly repressed. I am attempting to help you to recognize your sexual potential. Think of your Captain. He is open in his sexuality. It has helped him to achieve greatness."

No, zis isn't…

Chekov found his great mind faltering. He suddenly longed for a complicated physics puzzle to solve. But this… the therapist was attempting to confound him.

To his great shame, it was working.

"You can be great. You simply need to embrace your sexuality. Perhaps… even a certain doctor then will notice you. Oh come now. I am very good at what I do." Dr. Coogan laughed at Chekov's open-mouthed shock. "That should be enough for today. We will continue this tomorrow."

Dem him!

"No. I vill not be coming back tomorrow." Chekov made a last attempt to wrestle some of his own power back.

"I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter."

Chekov felt unexpected tears burn the edges of his eyelids. "I vill ask for a new therapist, zen."

Dr. Coogan stood up from his chair. "So I did come close to the truth, then, didn't I? This is proof to me that we are close to a breakthrough."

Chekov blinked repeatedly, to cease the tears from falling down his cheeks. He clenched his trembling fists.

The doctor then moved his chair back behind his desk. "Shall we say 9am tomorrow?"

Chekov found himself unable to respond.

"I will see you then." Dr. Coogan sat down and appeared to be interested in something in his desk.

###

"Pavel… over here." Hikaru shouted across the room. He was ensconced in a corner booth of the bustling bar, Uhura and Scottie nursing drinks beside him, appearing deep in conversation.

As Chekov approached, all three said cheery greetings, before Uhura and Scottie continued in their conversation. Upon getting closer, Pavel inferred it to be about inter-dimensional travel.

"How was- are you alright?" Sulu said, slamming a beer glass before Chekov and reaching for the half drunk jug of beer on the booth's alcohol stained surface.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?" Now that he had calmed down a little, he had his voice and accent back under control.

"You look a little pale, that's all."

For a moment, he considered telling Hikaru about the therapy session, and then swiftly decided against it. Perhaps the therapist was right. He was a foolish virgin, who knew nothing about sexuality. What if Hikaru laughed at him?

"Hey… did something happen to you?" Hikaru all but whispered as he poured the jug of beer. Even though his tone of voice was low, Scottie and Uhura ceased in their conversation.

"What's up, me pretty one?" Scottie asked. This had been an affectionate nickname for him, of late. He knew the Scotsman meant no harm by it. Indeed, he also referred to Kirk as a pretty boy (behind his back, certainly), and, when he was truly in a mood to get a verbal tongue-lashing, McCoy.

Even so, Chekov flinched at the name.

"Was it… the therapy session?" Sulu asked.

Uhura gave Scottie a pointed look and reached for her purse. "I'm getting hungry. I'm thinking of trying that new place by Braidwood Street. I've been trying for three weeks to get Spock to go in there, to no avail. Want to join me, Scottie?"

"That's the place with the all-you-can-eat buffet? I'm eternally yours." He did a little mock bow. Uhura laughed.

"I'll see you two later." She gave a little wave in Sulu and Chekov's direction.

Scottie cast a final frown towards Chekov. He reached out, as though to place a hand on his shoulder, but then clearly decided against it, for which Chekov was grateful.

"See you around."

Chekov watched them leave, the feeling of floundering building in his stomach, as though a rip was dragging him under. Clearly, Uhura had deliberately pulled Scottie away so he could talk to Sulu by himself. Even so, he was not ready for the conversation.

Hikaru frowned and poured himself another pint of beer, slowly sipping.

"I didn't much like the guy. Terrible therapist."

"Vot did he say to you? Can I ask?"

"It was mainly about sexuality. He told me I needed to be more open with myself. Experiment more with women and men. Complete idiot, if you ask me."

Pavel felt some of his apprehension dissolve.

"Da, da. He did ze same with me." He felt a slight embarrassment overcome himself at the thought of telling the therapist he would charge him with sexual harassment. "He asked me how often I…you know…masturbated." He said the last word barely above a whisper.

Hikaru laughed. "He asked me the same thing. I told him six times a day. He actually believed me and told me I was very healthy."

Chekov laughed along with him.

"If you'll excuse me, Pavel. I'd better go masturbate now. Better keep up my quota."

Both cracked up once more, as Hikaru moved from the table. He stood a moment.

"So, you're… you're sure everything is alright? Forget about him. He's an idiot."

"He wants me to come back tomorrow."

"Does he, now?" Hikaru looked surprised. "So…" He was suddenly back down at the table. "That's all? It's just… it's probably none of my business. When you came to the table, you looked pretty upset."

"Did I?" His mind went to the unwanted touches on his leg and crotch.

No, that part he couldn't tell Hikaru. He simply couldn't.

"I'm ok." He grinned.

Sulu nodded. "Ok, I'll be back in a minute."

Chekov watched him disappear through the crowd to the bathroom, ignoring the anxiety still twisting his stomach.

Tbc…


End file.
